Three Years

11:01 AM
By Beka Burke
10 Comments

Of absolute, fucking bliss.

My husband, the wonderful driver-to-tackstores, listener-of-random-horsie-stories, and supporter of all things Beka, consented to marry me three years ago today. It was on a beach at Tybee Island, GA. We'd been together for about four years when we got married. We moved down to the low country on the 19th of August. We got married on the second of October. In that month and a half, I unpacked boxes and planned a wedding and started a job. It wasn't easy, but I like to think it was beautiful. Simple. Us.

I've written about our love story a few times, but in an effort to not send you delving into old entries (or to spend the time looking for them), I'll recap here.

D and I grew up around the corner from each other. There were literally three houses between us. I'm a year older - we actually just celebrated his 29th birthday on Monday, so we're in that magical period during which we're the same age - and I must have been in first grade when I discovered this cute little red head.

Written above his marked-out head in highlighter is "geek".

I pursued him doggedly for years. This wasn't hard to do when I lived so near to him. My friends and I would walk by his house, we would play together. Truth or dare led to our first kiss. Elementary school turned to middle school. He was always there, always in the periphery. Walking with his basketball by my house. Then came high school and this cute kid became gorgeous. Whereas I just got weird.

I wasn't shy about my crush on him. My bestie in high school would corner him. Mme. Elliot, my French professor, would tell him that I was excellent at French (I was) and that he ought to try to study with me (I think I was AP French IV at this time). We had one class together: astronomy. I can't begin to tell you how often I wished that gorgeous red head would approach me during one of those late night star parties.

My senior year, I approached him. Hands shaking, I gave him my phone number and asked him to call.

He never did.

Fast forward several years. I'm in an interesting point in my life. I'm working a full-time data-entry job (plane repair - TFEs and TPEs and part numbers and a lot of shit) and I'm going to school for my bachelor's full-time. I'm President of the Equestrian Team. I'm living alone with my dog, Scarlette, after having broken off an engagement six months prior. My apartment is shitty, my finances are tight, my little life is overwhelmed. I'm going out casually with a few fellows and, oh yeah, I'm trying to figure out how to buy a horse named Bold Archer.

I get on facebook one day at work, because my job sucks and I don't care about it, and send the cute little red head a friend request. I expect him to reject it, like he rejected me, but am astounded that within a few hours he has accepted and sent me a lengthy message. The gist of the message was that he sucked, I was awesome, and would I want to get together the next time he came home from college? I remember texting my bestie that OMFG HE WANTS TO GO ON A DATE! HOLY SHIT, HE ACCEPTED MY FRIEND REQUEST!

First photo he saw of a grown-up Beka. IHSA Show at UGA, with my bestie.

It happened quickly after that. We started spending nights on the phone. Our first date lasted all day. He gave me a star necklace and asked me to be his girlfriend within a month. Before we'd reconnected in person, my car was totalled and I used the money to put the down on Archie. I mean, this guy stepped into a world of crazy and never looked back.

Why, yes. On our first date, I'm going to take you to see the dog that I'm adopting.

Picking up said dog.

We both graduated college and he moved back to our hometown to start medical school. I waited impatiently for a proposal and when it finally happened, he popped one knee in Archie's stall after having helped me muck horse shit and blanket the Kid.